Lansdowne Circus, October 10th.--I returned hither from Liverpool last
week, and have spent the time idly since then, reposing myself after the
four years of unnatural restraint in the Consulate. Being already pretty
well acquainted with the neighborhood of Leamington, I have little or
nothing to record about the prettiest, cheerfullest, cleanest of English
towns.
On Saturday we took the rail for Coventry, about a half-hour's travel
distant. I had been there before, more than two years ago. . . . . No
doubt I described it on my first visit; and it is not remarkable enough
to be worth two descriptions,--a large town of crooked and irregular
streets and lanes, not looking nearly so ancient as it is, because of new
brick and stuccoed fronts which have been plastered over its antiquity;
although still there are interspersed the peaked gables of old-fashioned,
timber-built houses; or an archway of worn stone, which, if you pass
through it, shows like an avenue from the present to the past; for just
in the rear of the new-fangled aspect lurks the old arrangement of
court-yards, and rustiness, and grimness, that would not be suspected
from the exterior.
Right across the narrow street stands St. Michael's Church with its tall,
tall tower and spire. The body of the church has been almost entirely
recased with stone since I was here before; but the tower still retains
its antiquity, and is decorated with statues that look down from their
lofty niches seemingly in good preservation. The tower and spire are
most stately and beautiful, the whole church very noble. We went in, and
found that the vulgar plaster of Cromwell's time has been scraped from
the pillars and arches, leaving them all as fresh and splendid as if just
made.
We looked also into Trinity Church, which stands close by St. Michael's,
separated only, I think, by the churchyard. We also visited St. John's
Church, which is very venerable as regards its exterior, the stone being
worn and smoothed--if not roughened, rather--by centuries of storm and
fitful weather. This wear and tear, however, has almost ceased to be a
charm to my mind, comparatively to what it was when I first began to see
old buildings. Within, the church is spoiled by wooden galleries, built
across the beautiful pointed arches.
We saw nothing else particularly worthy of remark except Ford's Hospital,
in Grey Friars' Street. It has an Elizabethan front of timber and
plaster, facing on the street, with two or three peaked gables in a row,
beneath which is a low, arched entrance, giving admission into a small
paved quadrangle, open to the sky above, but surrounded by the walls,
lozenge-paned windows, and gables of the Hospital. The quadrangle is but
a few paces in width, and perhaps twenty in length; and, through a
half-closed doorway, at the farther end, there was a glimpse into a
garden. Just within the entrance, through an open door, we saw the neat
and comfortable apartment of the Matron of the Hospital; and, along the
quadrangle, on each side, there were three or four doors, through which
we glanced into little rooms, each containing a fireplace, a bed, a chair
or two,--a little, homely, domestic scene, with one old woman in the
midst of it; one old woman in each room. They are destitute widows, who
have their lodging and home here,--a small room for each one to sleep,
cook, and be at home in,--and three and sixpence a week to feed and
clothe themselves with,--a cloak being the only garment bestowed on them.
When one of the sisterhood dies each old woman has to pay twopence
towards the funeral; and so they slowly starve and wither out of life,
and claim each their twopence contribution in turn. I am afraid they
have a very dismal time.
There is an old man's hospital in another part of the town, on a similar
plan. A collection of sombre and lifelike tales might be written on the
idea of giving the experiences of these Hospitallers, male and female;
and they might be supposed to be written by the Matron of one, who had
acquired literary taste and practice as a governess,--and by the Master
of the other, a retired school-usher.
It was market-day in Coventry, and far adown the street leading from it
there were booths and stalls, and apples, pears, toys, books, among which
I saw my Twice-Told Tales, with an awful portrait of myself as
frontispiece,--and various country produce, offered for sale by men,
women, and girls. The scene looked lively, but had not much vivacity in
it.
October 27th.--The autumn has advanced progressively, and is now fairly
established, though still there is much green foliage, in spite of many
brown trees, and an enormous quantity of withered leaves, too damp to
rustle, strewing the paths,--whence, however, they are continually swept
up and carried off in wheelbarrows, either for neatness or for the
agricultural worth, as manure, of even a withered leaf. The pastures
look just as green as ever,--a deep, bright verdure, that seems almost
sunshine in itself, however sombre the sky may be. The little plats of
grass and flowers, in front of our circle of houses, might still do
credit to an American midsummer; for I have seen beautiful roses here
within a day or two; and dahlias, asters, and such autumnal flowers, are
plentiful; and I have no doubt that the old year's flowers will bloom
till those of the new year appear. Really, the English winter is not so
terrible as ours.
October 30th.--Wednesday was one of the most beautiful of all days, and
gilded almost throughout with the precious English sunshine,--the most
delightful sunshine ever made, both for its positive fine qualities and
because we seldom get it without too great an admixture of water. We
made no use of this lovely day, except to walk to an Arboretum and
Pinetum on the outskirts of the town. U---- and Mrs. Shepard made an
excursion to Guy's Cliff.
[Here comes in the visit to Leicester's Hospital and Redfern's Shop, and
St. Mary's Church, printed in Our Old Home.--ED.]
From Redfern's we went back to the market-place, expecting to find J-----
at the Museum, but the keeper said he had gone away. We went into this
museum, which contains the collections in Natural History, etc., of a
county society. It is very well arranged, and is rich in specimens of
ornithology, among which was an albatross, huge beyond imagination. I do
not think that Coleridge could have known the size of the fowl when he
caused it to be hung round the neck of his Ancient Mariner. There were a
great many humming-birds from various parts of the world, and some of
their breasts actually gleamed and shone as with the brightest lustre of
sunset. Also, many strange fishes, and a huge pike taken from the river
Avon, and so long that I wonder how he could turn himself about in such a
little river as the Avon is near Warwick. A great curiosity was a bunch
of skeleton leaves and flowers, prepared by a young lady, and preserving
all the most delicate fibres of the plant, looking like inconceivably
fine lace-work, white as snow, while the substance was quite taken away.
In another room there were minerals, shells, and a splendid collection of
fossils, among which were remains of antediluvian creatures, several feet
long. In still another room, we saw some historical curiosities,--the
most interesting of which were two locks of reddish-brown hair, one from
the head and one from the beard of Edward IV. They were fastened to a
manuscript letter which authenticates the hair as having been taken from
King Edward's tomb in 1739. Near these relics was a seal of the great
Earl of Warwick, the mighty kingmaker; also a sword from Bosworth Field,
smaller and shorter than those now in use; for, indeed, swords seem to
have increased in length, weight, and formidable aspect, now that the
weapon has almost ceased to be used in actual warfare. The short Roman
sword was probably more murderous than any weapon of the same species,
except the bowie-knife. Here, too, were Parliamentary cannon-balls,
etc. . . . .
[The visit to Whitnash intervenes here.--ED.]